


For Gods or Beasts

by Rohirrim_Writer



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rohirrim_Writer/pseuds/Rohirrim_Writer
Summary: Fanwork about the Game of Thrones x Frozen fanfiction written by RonnieWriting. It's my interpretation of an OC that might exist in their worldbuilding. To get more context and come up with your own OC's go read the original it is far better than anything I could write!
Kudos: 2





	For Gods or Beasts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RonnieWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieWriting/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Tide of Ice and Blood (Beta)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559538) by [RonnieWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieWriting/pseuds/RonnieWriting). 



Ártor braced himself for the winds as he opened the door to his childhood home. He did not fear the storm that raged beyond it, only resented it, as he did the Gods who brought it to his doorstep. Gods of wargs and demons and death. 

He pressed forward into the fray with his iron strapped to his hips and bow strapped to his back to secure the animals in the barn. He should have let them into the longhouse, the extra warmth would do them all good. He’d grown accustomed to spending the long nights and short days alone, with neither man nor beast to comfort him. Nor Gods. 

The North was his home. Perhaps that was why he hated the Gods with such a vengeance--they could take that which was most precious to him at any moment. Had proven they could. 

As the cold crept into his fingers as he closed the doors to the small barn, he cursed The Ghost of the Mountain. Cold had taken his baby brother just hours after his birth. 

Following the rope tied from one door to the other he made his way back to his warm fire. Where had The Mother of Fire and Mercy been then? When the kindling would not light, when the damp set in? 

They could not bury him, for the ground was too hard. They had left him buried in the snow, to be dragged off by The Father’s wolves--or his wargs. What difference did it make? Did not fathers know only how to take? 

His mother had given to him, given him the knowledge and traditions of their people, and like seeds in the warm ground of the southern lands, those ideas grew. 

_ A white witch _ , she had said,  _ will come and end the winter. The grass will grow for our beasts and the flax for our cloth. We will have the seasons once again and there will be balance in the North.  _

She had spoken of balance many times, as she taught him how to braid his own hair, and tend the meal fire. She taught him the old ways,  _ we must never wield iron, my son, lest the Gods desert us _ . 

What did the Gods know of what it meant to be man? When they could lift a finger and command the earth? He would weld his iron sword and he would slay any warg of the unjust Father or beast of the betrayer of a Son or his Gods forsaken forest. 

What had it brought them except death? 

He would give his life to see Aren fall. 

His own anger is what brought him to enough exhaustion to sleep. The winds howled around him, carrying the voices of the dead to lull him to sleep. 

When he woke the storm had abated. His anger had burned itself up in the night as well. He could not waste his energy on the Gods and the skies when there were repairs to be made. So his lonely existence went, perhaps it would not have been so lonely if he had not known the loving care of a mother, the tiny, yet fierce grip, of a babe. 

Should that he had been born to a nomad and left among the trees, so he would not know of his own lonely existence. 


End file.
